Home for Dinner and Weekends
by HotPinkCoffee
Summary: The story of how Marco's mother came to be the host for one of the most powerful Yeerks in the Empire. Pre-Animorphs #1. Eva's POV. Final chapter up; complete.
1. Thursday

**Home for Dinner and Weekends**

**I: Thursday**

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"Get me John Palafoutas from the Gazette, Danny. And Ellen Fisher from the Tribune, too. Tell them we story we want is that we're trending upwards in the third district."

"That isn't from an official poll, though," Danny told me, looking nervous, like interns always do when they disagree with me. I never understood why they did that. I may have been a powerful figure as a campaign director, but I wasn't in any position to fire them, and as far as I knew I'd never been mean to an intern for no good reason.

Maybe the multitasking intimated them, I thought as I signed off on some papers and checked the new second district polling statistics that had been left on my desk, all the while keeping an eye on the television in the corner and opening up a call. "Henry, the person you want to talk to is Jane Ralph, her extension's pound-eighteen. Say hi to the kids for me, I'm transferring you to her. Danny, the poll numbers don't have to be legitimate. If we pretend they are, the imaginary positive trend will give us a real positive trend, do you catch my drift?"

He shook his head, but headed out to his cubicle anyway. Another intern came in almost as soon as he'd left, Brian or Ben or something like that. "Ms. Salazar? Mr. Hersch said he's getting the graduation photo op in the Gazette. And he wants you to look at this."

"Great, leave it on my desk." I said, preparing another call before I noticed that I had a call from Hedrick Chapman. Hedrick Chapman, who I sometimes felt was the bane of my existence with his endless calling about my son. Probably another complaint about how Marco was "failing to realize his potential" in class, which was code for telling me that Marco was smart enough to know that he could completely slack off for two thirds of a quarter and then work moderately hard for the last third and still pass to the next grade. Most parents would have been frustrated, but my son was nine. I trusted that by the time his grades mattered, he'd apply himself. Nobody would ever care what grades he got in third grade as long as his high school grades were good.

I took the call. "Yes, Hedrick? How many times do I have to tell you that Peter's a much better contact than I am?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Laroche-"

"And how many times do I have to tell you I kept my maiden name?"

"Yes, yes, anyway. Since you and your husband missed the last parent-teacher conference, I was wondering when we could schedule the make-up conference-"

"We'll be at the next conference, Hedrick. For the moment I trust my son will do fine between now and then. There's no need for a make-up conference."

"But Ms. La- Ms. Salazar, Marco's grades are low enough that if continues at this rate, by the next conference he won't be able to go on to the next grade with the rest of his class."

"He'll bring them up at the last minute. He's playing you, Hedrick. He's got the system more figured out than you think. And now, if you don't mind, I need to use my phone for my actual job." I hung up before he could protest and started reviewing the folder the intern had left on my desk, while calling up another reporter to tip them off on another photo op.

How national, even state level campaigners did it was beyond me. They probably didn't have children, or school principals they were on a first-name basis with. What was worse, rumor had it that Hedrick was going to transfer to the local middle-high school, which would mean two years of freedom from him, but that we'd be dealing with him for all of Marco's teenage years.

Irritated, I kept reviewing the folder. The contents were very interesting, at least from a spin perspective. Part of my client's platform was police reform, and if the accounts provided here were true, many of the non-violent offenders who'd been picked up in the area weren't driven straight to the jailhouse. Instead, the cars had stopped at some building owned by a company called The Sharing. And all of the offenders who went there received reduced sentencing later.

Someone would have to figure out what The Sharing was. If it was a halfway house or counseling, it might be political suicide to attack the police station over it. But if anything shady was going on, we could use it to bolster our platform. Either way, it was very likely legally suspect.

I called up Mr. Hersch. "Randy, can you check out this Sharing organization? I've never heard of it and maybe we can use it."

"'Fraid not, Eva. Hey, you should go, you're our spin-master. I think it's open twenty-four seven, so you could go on the weekend."

"You know I don't work weekends. I have an actual personal life and I'd like to keep it that way," I said snippily. But then I thought about it. A numeration of criminal acts by the police could win us a lot of sympathy with black and latino voters. And Marco was going to be attending a birthday party on Sunday, and Peter was going up to visit his sister that afternoon. "Never mind, I'll check it out Sunday."

"Glad to hear it." He said, soundly oddly cheerful about it.

I didn't think any more of it, and hung up. There were more calls to make, more documents to review, more stories to spin, and I wanted out of there by six. No matter what was happening on the campaign trail, I wasn't going to have my husband and child eating cereal for dinner.

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Peter was already home when I arrived. He was relaxing on the couch, as he usually did between picking Marco up and welcoming me home. A VHS of The Twilight Zone was on the television. He stood up to greet me, kissed me on the cheek. "Hey, honey. Rough work day?"

"Why, do I look frazzled?" I said, setting my briefcase down. "Don't worry, I didn't bring any of it home."

He grunted. "Wish I could say the same. Jerry wants me to look over some more code for the new satellite program."

"You need to ask him for a raise. You aren't valued enough there." I said pointedly. Peter grimaced. He never listened to me when it came to his job, nor did he feel it was my job to try and negotiate his salary. It had led to its fair share of arguments before, and I wasn't in the mood for it tonight, so I changed the subject. "You did remember to pick our kid up, right?"

"Sure thing. Brought Jake home too. They're playing in the backyard now."

"Let me guess, Civil War?"

"I think it's Revolutionary War, unless the ridiculous British accent Marco's trying for was actually a really bad Southern accent."

I sighed. "When I was a kid my friends and I played animal hospital. Why do boys always have to play war?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess boys will be boys. When I was a kid it was attack of the alien invaders. I think Jake'll be here before dinner, so you should make a portion for him."

I started boiling water for pasta. "God knows that kid can eat. I think he's hitting another growth spurt. Might be a good thing for his dreams of NBA stardom."

As much as I disliked the war games Marco and Jake played, I was glad that they were friends. Jake was a good kid, an honest, dependable, responsible child even at a young age. Quiet, but that was alright, because Marco chattered enough for both of them. Jake just gave off the vibes that parents could trust him to do the right thing. I'd have trusted Jake to call the ambulance if someone got hurt, or to lead his friends from doing something wrong. And I knew of more than a few instances where Marco had mouthed off to bigger kids and Jake had been able to defuse the situation before it got violent.

"Mom, Jake told me he wants an Super Nintendo for his birthday." Marco ran in, his new pants covered in what I assumed was mud.

Jake followed, significantly less dirty. He only sported a few grass stains. "I did not! Marco's only telling you that because it's what he wants to play with."

"Not true. Jake totally said he wanted the Simpsons game that came out."

"I'm sure he did," I said patiently. "But we're not going to the store until Saturday. Right now you need to take off your shoes and switch pants. I told you not to get those dirty."

"Told you." Jake said smugly. "I told you your mom would get mad if you jumped in that mud."

Marco stuck his tongue out. "It was funny when I did it."

"Marco, get!" I chided. He pouted but took off his shoes and ran upstairs to switch clothes. "So, happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks, Miss Marco's Mom. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say I'm ten yet, though. Since my birthday party isn't till Sunday and all."

"Well, you're ten years old either way, so I say you can celebrate it now. I think I have some Li'l Debbies in the cupboard, if you want me to put some candles on one."

"That would be nice, Miss Marco's Mom." He said politely, but he looked a little concerned.

"You can call me Eva, Jake." I said, pulling them out of the cupboard and grabbing some birthday candles from the cabinet. "Peter, you wanna light this?"

Peter was outside, having a pre-dinner smoke. "In a minute."

"I'm afraid I can only fit one candle on here and not ten, but you get the idea." I told Jake before turning back to finishing the pasta and steamed vegetables.

Suddenly Jake said, "are you mad at me because I didn't stop Marco from getting his clothes dirty?"

It caught me off-guard. Maybe Jake was just a little too much of a good kid. "No, honey. Marco's not your responsibility. I'm not even all that mad at him, much less you."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Whew. Okay. I just thought that since I should've known better, it was kinda my job."

"Oh jeez, no fair! How come Jake gets a Li'l Debbie for dinner?" I heard from the doorway.

"It's his birthday," Peter said, coming in with his lighter. "You can have one if you eat all your vegetables."

Marco still didn't look pleased, so I promised him that I'd make him my renowned home-fried tacos for his birthday, and he seemed to soften up after that. He'd be turning ten in a little less than a month.

Dinner went fairly smoothly. Peter and I let the boys dominate the conversation, as they undoubtedly didn't care much about what we'd done at work. The conversation mostly revolved around the new arcade games at the mall, and Marco teasing Jake about some girl Jake was fond of. After dinner, we let them play outside some more, after making them promise to come back before it got too dark and to stay in the yard. If it were Marco alone, we probably would have made him play inside, but with Jake he was probably safe.

While they were out playing Peter and I relaxed on the front porch, him with a cigarette and me with a half-glass of wine. As cheesy as it was, we still enjoyed watching the sunset together.

"If I get a raise…." Peter started, then stopped. "Never mind."

"If you get a raise what?"

"If I get that raise you always want me to get, would you consider working part-time?"

My eyes widened. "You're serious?"

"I've done all the calculations and we could move to a different neighborhood and still live very comfortably. And you're always talking about how you wish you didn't have to work as much," he said quickly.

"Well, I – that's a really big decision. I'd have to think about it. If there was some way to make it work so we could stay in this neighborhood, maybe. I wouldn't want to just uproot Marco. Constancy's important to kids."

"He'd still go to the same school. And you could spend more time home. You always said you wanted to garden."

I could hear the kids playing in the backyard. Some game with pretend guns again. It sounded like Marco would probably be dirty by the time he came back in, if Jake's loud complaints about Marco climbing trees and crawling under the patio for cover were any indication. Naturally, my son was finding ways to bend the rules, and infuriate his best friend.

I clicked my tongue. "It's a big decision, honey. And I love my job. I worked hard to get it. And if this campaign's successful, I'll have a lot more jobs open to me. And more flexible hours."

"Yeah, but your guy's down eight points in the polls."

"Ah-ah. Maybe not for long. I'm checking something out on Sunday that could give us a bump in minority communities."

"Eight points big?" He looked skeptical. He killed his cigarette.

"I don't know. But it might be a big scandal for the police, so it could be big."

He sat back. "Sunday, huh? I thought you didn't work weekends."

I could tell he didn't believe me. I didn't entirely believe myself either. A big scandal would be a godsend to the campaign, but it almost sounded too good to be true. "Tell you what. If Sunday's a bust, I'll work part-time on the next campaign. If it works out, I get to work full-time as often as I want and you don't have to ask for a raise."

"That'll be a relief. You know I hate confrontation," Peter said. Then, still suspiciously, "You think this thing you're doing on Sunday might be that important?"

"Maybe not. But if it is, it could change the whole situation."

I finished my wine. From the backyard, I heard Jake yell "Marco, when you die you have to _stay _dead!"


	2. Sunday Morning

**II: Sunday Morning**

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About a year before, we'd started letting Marco sneak a GameBoy into church. The rule was that he wasn't allowed to use it during choir performances, but as long as he kept it discrete he could use it during the sermons. Despite the dirty looks we sometimes received for it, I was sure that the other attendees were happier having to put up with it than put up with a bored, squirming nine year-old, and I knew there was a limit to what my son would put up with to keep me happy.

This Sunday even the GameBoy couldn't keep Marco entertained. It was the day of Jake's birthday party, and Marco was upset that he couldn't help Jake set up. Apparently the theme was Captain Planet, and Marco wanted to set aside the best party favor bags for himself and Jake. His greediness didn't bother me, as I knew full well that if someone asked him for the best bag he'd relinquish it. My son was often a handful, but he was always very good at sharing, and did have a genuinely sweet nature.

It was almost easy to forget that, however, when he was suggesting for the umpteenth time that we go off-road to get out of the traffic we were stuck in.

"How come you're going so slow? I saw these cars on TV that could go right over that cement wall. Why can't you get one of those cars?" He impatiently tugged at chunks of his hair, yanking out from his head. It was a habit he'd picked up from Peter, only it looked ridiculous because his hair was longer.

"Those cars are for expert drivers in car shows, honey. I don't know why you're so impatient. You're still going to be there way before the other kids," I said, for probably the eighth time in the last ten minutes.

"It's Jake's birthday. If I'm not there for the whole thing Jake's going to sit in the back while everyone else has fun," he said matter-of-factly. I sometimes forgot that my son brought out the more social side in people. Jake, especially, seemed to thrive on the little pushes Marco gave him.

"Well, you're not going to be late. And believe me, I'm no happier about this traffic than you are. I have something important to get to." As the days had passed, I'd gotten more and more antsy about this Sharing thing. Wagering your career on something will tend to do that.

Marco picked at the wrapping paper on the Nerf football we'd gotten Jake and squirmed in his makeshift booster seat. He'd decided he was too old for an actual booster seat, but given his height we'd decided to outfit the regular seat and belt with extra padding anyway. He'd been none too pleased. "I bet it's not as important as a birthday party."

"It could be. Your dad and I have a bet going. If he's right about this, I have to stay home more often and we might move to a new neighborhood. So it's pretty important."

He looked concerned. "A new neighborhood? But we've always lived in this house."

"Then you better hope I win the bet." Finally, we reached the exit back to our neighborhood. "You're not even the teensiest bit excited about me being home more?"

He thought about that, then grinned. "A little. But only if it doesn't mean more chores."

"What, you don't want to be the handyman when I start my garden?" I teased. He stuck his tongue out. "We're here. Try not to tell Jake it's a football until _after_ he opens it, alright? And I'll pick you up at four."

"How about four thirty?" He said hopefully.

"How about four?" I repeated, then watched as he ran up and rang the doorbell. Jean let him in. From the car, I could see Jake and his brother Tom peeking into the party favor bags.

I drove fairly quickly, and despite the possibly contrary opinions of the other drivers I drove fairly well, to the part of town where The Sharing building was. I was anxious and excited; a victorious campaign, especially after all indicators pointed to a loss, could make my career. I could work for better candidates, candidates I agreed with more, and I could demand higher pay and better hours. A winning track record would open a wealth of possibilities for me.

The Sharing wasn't exactly in the slums, but the area certainly needed some upkeep. The only businesses around seemed to be laundromats and pawn shops, with the occasional fast food joint squeezed in. Mostly the block it was on seemed deserted – a few cars parked here or there, but none of them looked new or even that they'd been left there recently.

Except for at the building for The Sharing itself. It stood like a well-kept bastion of maintenance on the scraggly city block. The windows shined a little too brightly; the walkway was a little too well swept. A few clean, new-looking cars were parked outside. Something about it struck me as off-putting, like someone trying to cram wholesomeness where it didn't belong.

"Odd," I said to myself. "Very odd."

I parked in the lot next to the other clean cars and walked up to the building. On the front door there was a poster with an insignia on it, something that looked like the top half of a person reaching for the sky. The poster read "The Sharing: living for something greater" and in smaller print "open every day, all hours".

"Living for something greater" sounded like it was a few steps away from Kool-Aid to me, but a lame slogan wasn't enough for me to run a smear campaign on. I walked in.

The first room looked like a cross between a waiting room and a recreational lounge. A big pool table sat in the middle of the room. Folding chairs lined the wall. The walls were covered with more laminated posters, all shouting more slogans like "Sharing Souls is Our Goal" and "Be Something More Than What You Are". A few people, two teens and one middle-aged man, were doing something on a computer together. They were all laughing, so I assumed it was some sort of game.

"I'll be right with you!" A blonde secretary said, much too cheerily to make me feel comfortable. She scuttled out of the room.

I took a seat. Drummed my fingers against my briefcase. Crossed one leg over the other, then reversed them. I was not good at sitting still. I had a mind for thinking and working quickly, not for sitting around waiting for perky secretaries. I turned on my tape recorder, in case anything incriminating came up while I was here.

Eventually, she came back, followed by a large Hispanic man. The man approached me, extending a hand. "Ms. Salazar. We're very pleased to see you here."

It wasn't entirely uncommon for people to recognize me, especially politicians and media men. Part of my job was extensive networking. But I couldn't place this man's face. I shook his hand, searching his handsome features for some familiarity. Nothing. "I'm pleased to be here. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"My name is Jorge Gutierrez. I'm an Inner Member here at The Sharing." He smiled warmly. Seductively, maybe, to some women. A bit too friendly, to me.

I kept it all business. I'd dealt with creeps and with misguided, well-intentioned klutzes, and I couldn't tell which one he was, if any. "I see. And what exactly is The Sharing?"

"We're a community. A safe haven for anyone who's ever felt like they weren't realizing their potential. We bring people together."

I'd worked on enough campaigns to know a vacuous buzzword when I heard one. I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "That doesn't tell me much, Mr. Gutierrez. Now, what I really want to know is what any of that has to do with non-violent offenders. Community's nice, but it doesn't quite require a pit stop on the way to jail, does it?"

"Oh, but you should see the work we're doing with non-violent offenders!" He said enthusiastically. "If you'd just come back here, we can show you why our program is so helpful in steering troubled people in the right direction."

He motioned to a door behind him. Instinctively I didn't want to go into a room alone with a strange man I'd barely met, but the secretary got up and stood next to him, as if she would also be with us. With a nod, I followed him.

I wasn't sure what to make of any of this yet. Counseling services, maybe? For as much as they tried to present a welcoming front, I still had no idea what they were doing in here, or if I could use it for our campaign. I pushed down my unease and tried to appear as unfazed as possible. Gutierrez kept speaking to me in vague colloquialisms, hinting that they were giving non-violent offenders a new purchase on life in exchange for good behavior.

"And," he said. "You'll note that the judges have been so pleased with our methods that our people receive reduced sentencing, and we have not had a single case of recidivism yet."

"Sounds a bit too good to be true. Why aren't you working with the violent offenders, then?" Gradually the posters lining the halls faded away, replaced by Dali prints and framed photographs from the Hubble telescope.

"We're a fledgling organization, Ms. Salazar. Surely, as a political player, you understand that we'd jeopardize our reputation by taking in violent offenders. And all of our people have to do something for us in return. That's a lot easier when someone gets a fine and community service than when someone goes to jail for a few years."

"Oh? What kind of favors do they have to do for you?"

Gutierrez stopped to unlock a door, using some sort of pass-card. "Recruitment, and the like. The Sharing isn't just for criminals. We mean to make it a community center for everyone, regardless of who they were."

I lingered over one of the Dali prints. A white-haired human head, hair shaped into the crevices of a brain, reflected a tree under a stormy green sky. It was an odd piece of art for counseling services, but then again, so was most Dali. "So you're a religious organization."

"No, not at all. We're far more secular. And our work is far more important than evangelisms."

They led me down two flights of rickety, but clean, stairs, into what appeared to be a basement. That there was a lower level to this place surprised me, but everything was brightly lit, which was somewhat comforting. More people were waiting in the downstairs, only they weren't laughing. They all looked as if they were playing Russian roulette.

I looked at one of the people in surprise. "Hedrick? I didn't think you were-"

And then I saw the shackles and the cages in the back.

I tried to bolt, but Gutierrez grabbed me by my arms and tried to force me down. Instinctively I slammed my foot down onto his, crushing his instep with my kitten heel. He screamed in pain. It was a good sound, the sound of potential escape. I slammed my elbows back and caught him under his ribs, spinning out of his grasp and running for the door.

I wasn't going to bring this up to the campaign, I thought. I was going to call door-to-door to every police officer in the phonebook about it.

I'd almost made it to the door when my feet were stolen out from under me. The secretary! She'd grabbed my ankle. I twisted in her grasp, kicked, grabbed her face in my hands in an attempt to gouge her eyes out. She recoiled and released me to bring her hands to her bleeding face, but by the time she did so, Gutierrez was on top of me, with handcuffs.

My face was in the carpet and the cuffs were on my wrists before I could react. An instant later I felt similar restraints around my ankles. Gutierrez pushed his foot into my back, hard enough to hurt.

"That's enough, Ilsen. We don't want to damage the body." Hedrick said, sounding more authoritative than he ever had as my child's principal.

"The body"? Were they going to rape me? Torture me? Kidnap me and kill me? Would Marco be waiting for me at four o'clock for a mother who was in a lifeless bundle at the bottom of the river? Would Peter come home to dead wife? My mind flashed through a hundred terrible scenarios, each worse than the one before it.

If only I'd known that their plans for me were inconceivably worse.


	3. Sunday Noon

Author's note: I am out of the country at the moment, attending my grandfather's funeral and dealing with a dissolution of my first big committed romantic relationship. Due to the convergence of these factors as well as shaky internet access, updates may take a bit longer as I'm a bit too distracted to set time aside for regular editing. I am also working concurrently on I Believe in Sleep, which should be updated within the week.

Thank you to everyone for the reviews. Reading them really has been a joy, and I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story.

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**III: Sunday Noon**

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I was hoisted up and dragged to an empty chair, propped up and shackled. Gutierrez didn't had an easy time of it, as I was thrashing, screaming and biting at him the whole while. Blood ran down my wrists from where I was cutting them up against the restraints.

The rest of them kept talking. After a while I listened, as my screaming seemed to do no good. Maybe I could learn something. Maybe I could use it to escape.

"Pitiful. Not the host, but this. You've made The Sharing a home to delinquents and failures." A tall man at the end of the table said. "We shouldn't have to be taking good hosts forcefully. We should be attracting more influential clientele. We shouldn't have to force them."

The others fidgeted nervously. Like interns at the campaign office, I thought. Like scared minions grateful to still be there.

He continued, sounding partly like a disciplinarian and partly like a frustrated teacher. "It only figures that the Council would send subpar soldiers. I ordered you to study humans. Weren't you ever taught to observe? To imitate? Humans are much more complicated than Hork-Bajir and Gedds. You should all know that by now."

The rest seemed to avoid making eye contact for several seconds. Finally, Hedrick spoke up. "Visser, this is the host body you requested. To which Yeerk will you assign it?"

My tape recorder! I recalled suddenly that it was still on. If I could manage an escape, I'd have proof to lock these freaks up. My briefcase lay where I dropped it, near the door. I'd only have to make sure that I escaped with it.

The man – Visser, it seemed like – seemed contemplative. "I would say that her political expertise may be useful for you to observe, but her position is too important for failure. This may be the most high-profile host we currently have, and hopefully her position will yield more powerful hosts. Given your collective inability to run a convincing community center, I think I'm the most qualified for this position."

It was deeply disturbing, being spoken about despite being right there in the room. Visser was speaking about me as if I were an assignment to hand out to an employee, not like I was a terrified bound woman. No threats, no yelling, no frightening descriptions of what would happen to me. It was as if I was inanimate, or stupid.

"What should we do with your current host, Visser?" Gutierrez asked.

"This host body is expendable. I have others with much more to offer. Once he's dead, dispose of the body." Visser reached into his own briefcase and pulled out pills. Carefully, he swallowed several of them.

Finally, he spoke to me. "I'll make this less painful for you if you don't struggle." And then he pressed his ear to mine.

I didn't understand what was happening. I tried to jerk my head away, but a woman at the table helped Visser hold it in place. I felt something soft and wet in my ear, then a drilling feeling, only from far away, as if under anesthetic. I felt it moving all the way down my ear.

I screamed and screamed and screamed, and suddenly I was no longer screaming. I couldn't make a sound at all. I couldn't move. I could only go limp and stare forward as whatever it was worked its way into my head. And suddenly, I became aware of another consciousness in my own head.

I saw flashes of images, flashes of my memories going by. I felt that they were being watched, not by me but by the thing in my head. Mundane memories and deep memories both. Studying for the citizenship test. My wedding day. Grocery shopping. Answering calls from reporters. My first political victory. My mother braiding my hair. Wetting the bed when I was seven. Taking neo-natal vitamins. Making a sack lunch for Marco. Fighting with Peter over his job. Promising to pick Marco up at four from Jake's.

"Oh, yes." My mouth said. "She will make a very good host. She could possibly become my primary host, even."

The man whose head was pressed to mine started screaming hysterically, raging. People from the table got up to restrain him as he started swinging at me. My head turned to face him. "Oh, quiet down, Roger. You'll be dead in a few minutes anyway. You might as well have some dignity during your final moments."

The others undid my shackles. My body stood up, calmly and completely without my willing. And then it – I – we – walked to the briefcase, pulled out the recorder, and ripped out its insides.


	4. Sunday Afternoon

**IV: Sunday Afternoon**

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Gradually, I came to understand things. Little things, hints at ideas, started seeping from the thing in my head to me. First it was that she used pills because she didn't trust anyone else in the room with a deadly weapon. My fear only intensified when I realized that the idea made sense to me.

Roger lay on the floor now, breathing shallowly. His eyes rolled up into his head. In moments he'd be dead. In my own head, I lay quiet, absorbing the information I could. Its control of me was total, but I could still think. My mind wasn't dead and replaced, just disconnected entirely from my body. The thing in my head came between my brain and the rest of my body both figuratively and literally.

The creature in my head was called a Yeerk. Its name was Edriss 562. It was from a planet far away, a planet with multiple moons and perpetually stormy skies. I thought briefly back to the print in the hallway. It fed every three days on the rays of a device mimicking its sun.

Could I escape in three days? Would it be too late before she used my body to enslave others?

{Silly little Eva. You are not the first host to believe you can escape in three days' time. You will not be the last,} it said.

Suddenly I fought to take control of my body, but Edriss had anticipated my move. I didn't have the autonomy to even twitch my eyelids. Couldn't clench a fist. Couldn't reach to tear the vile thing out of my head.

{You see? I have total control. I'll break you eventually.} Edriss said calmly.

For the first time, I spoke back, thinking at her {you won't break me. I promise}.

{I've heard more people say that than follow through,} it said contemptuously. It rifled through my memories some more, pulling up more recent ones. My schedule, my appointments for the day. Older memories, too. How I drove a car, where I lived.

Edriss paused on a memory of Marco, holding the gift-wrapped football. He was unfastening himself from the car, beaming and excited. His hair fell in his eyes as he opened the car door.

{You have a child,} it said matter-of-factly. It skimmed through more memories, birthdays and the like. Marco's short life flashes through my imagination. It felt almost like more of a violation than anything else. The creature that was going to mimic me was taking notes on how to greet my son after school, what cereal he liked, how to convincingly kiss him goodnight. I knew right then that my role was being abducted. At the same time, Edriss seemed to be expressing an inordinate amount of interest in these memories, rather than the other memories she could use to impersonate me.

It must have sensed that I'd noticed its interest. {Your child is spoiled,} it said, and moved on.

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"Eva! You're alright! We called your house but Peter wasn't there," Jean said.

It was eight o'clock, a full four hours after I was supposed to pick Marco up. Jean must have been worried senseless about what to do with him. I wondered if he'd been worried or just happy to spend more time with Jake.

Jean's eyes shot down to the bandages on my wrist. And then her eyes lingered on the red rug-burn on my face, from when Gutierrez had subdued me. "You are alright, aren't you?"

"I got into a minor car accident on the way here. I had to stop at the hospital. I'm fine, Jean, just a little banged up, is all." Edriss excused. "I tried to call but the payphone at the hospital was out of service, and you know how those ER waiting lines are."

"Well, thank God you're okay. Marco and Jake are upstairs with the new Nintendo system. Jake's cousins are up there too." She led Edriss and me up the stairs, to the playroom in the attic she'd set up for Jake and Tom. I'd been in the house a few times before, so I was familiar with the layout. "They all had dinner, even though they should've been pretty stuffed on birthday cake. The metabolism of youth, right?"

"Right. Try as we might, we're never going to be able to get away with eating half of what a young boy eats." Edriss said. I might have said it, under normal circumstances. Its – her – simulacrum of me was unsettlingly accurate. "Your boys seem to be putting it to good use. Between the two of them they've probably put on a good foot and a half in the last year."

Jean chuckled. "Just wait until Marco hits his growth spurt. You'll understand the pain of having to buy your kid longer pants every month. At least Jake can use Tom's hand-me-downs."

"Marco will just have to get used to wearing shorts all year round, I guess." Edriss said. A flawless mimic, but maybe it was that Jean didn't know me well enough to spot the differences. If there were differences.

{My son will know. He's a very perceptive child.} I told Edriss.

{Your son will never even notice that you're gone.} She said back.

From the other side of the attic door I heard a female voice. "I don't get why you have to spend all this time on puzzles instead of just slicing Ganon up."

And then Marco's voice, responding "if this game was just a button-masher it would be boring. Duh. Now be quiet, Jake's trying to concentrate."

"It wouldn't get boring to me," the girl replied.

We followed Jean up the fold-down stairs into the attic. Five kids were sitting on the couch up there, Marco, Jake and his brother, and whom I assumed were Jake's cousins, two blonde girls. One was probably a few years younger than the rest, absorbed with a Fox and the Hound picture book. The other was intently watching the videogame with the boys.

"Mom!" Marco jumped up out of the couch and ran over to give me a hug. His little arms squeezing me tightly made my body flinch at the pressure on the bruises from earlier. "I got worried. "

"Mama's boy." The older cousin rolled her eyes.

"That's okay, squirt. Sorry I didn't call." Edriss said, patting him lovingly on the head. Marco cast a winning grin at me, then, having acknowledged my presence, jumped right back onto the couch to berate Jake's playing, as children tend to do.

He hadn't noticed. Hadn't seen anything. Had no idea that inside her own mind, his mother was weeping and screaming and devastated that he hadn't sensed the slightest difference.

{It's alright, Eva.} Edriss said to me. {There's no need to be disappointed. I'm the most skilled Yeerk in the Empire. The most knowledgeable about humans. I've never been suspected by anyone, much less a child.}

"Jake, you need to get the Pegasus Boots for this level!" The five of them continued playing their game. The little cousin slowly mouthed the words to her picture book. Jake pushed buttons with precision and thoughtfulness and his cousin criticized how slowly he did it. Tom watched tolerantly, bored with the game but keeping an eye on the younger kids. And Marco squirmed in his seat, noting all the things Jake did wrong.

Oblivious, all of them. Absorbed in the normal, average lives of elementary school children.

"Five minutes, Marco," Edriss said out loud. And then, to me, {you'll need to lower those high expectations.}


	5. Five Months Later

A/N: After sitting on it a while, I've decided to take this a bit further, probably out to seven parts, so I can have Eva address the faked death. Thanks everyone for the feedback - you're the ones who give me ideas!

**V: Five Months Later**

-/-

-/-

{You could just go through all my memories. You don't have to ask questions.}

{That becomes tedious very quickly, and I already know all the answers anyway. How you respond to questions is infinitely more interesting.} Edriss said.

{Well, from what you've told me, Yeerks really only live in one place. All of you grew up in the same place, knowing all of each other. A long time ago, humans spread out across the globe. Entire generations went by without people in one group communicating with other groups. So whole new languages and cultures evolved by the time groups ran into each other again.}

{There is only one Yeerk culture and language,} Edriss mused. {Before portable pools, there was only one great pool. We all grew in the same environment. Any Yeerk can talk to any other and expect to be understood. With humans, conditioned acts of communication in one culture can be entirely misconstrued in another. Perfectly benign words in one language are grave insults in another. And this is not even considering the plethora of religions you humans have. Surely there have been some efforts at homogeneity?}

{There have been efforts in the past. The Crusades, the Holocaust, ethnic cleansing, even here in California with the push for eliminating Spanish language classes for hispanohablantes.} I told her, more than a little ashamed of my species' history. {But many of us value different cultures. We see diversity as a good thing. You learn from other people's differences.}

{Yes. You do,} Edriss said. {I assume this is why you continue to speak Spanish to your father despite the fact that you both speak English. Valuing a culture that you are no longer immersed in.}

{It will be a pity,} she added, {that when we control this world all this diversity will be exterminated. This planet and its inhabitants might be the most varied of any planet we have found. So many species, and so many different variations within the species.}

{Well, good thing you're not going to control this world. At least not while your little Sharing project only attracts junkies and bums.}

{The Sharing will evolve. Passing as humans is more difficult than passing as Hork-Bajir, but we will learn. The steps between a Gedd and a Hork-Bajir are must vaster than the steps between a Hork-Bajir and a human. Eventually The Sharing will attract even the most successful and confident of humans.}

{I doubt it,} I told her. {I doubt it because it's so much easier to pull in people who have nothing than it is to pull in people who have something. You may know that, but your minions don't.}

It was five months since my infestation. I hadn't given up hope that I'd be free someday. At every feeding I attempted escape, which seemed only to amuse Edriss. Once she'd forgotten that I'd had my keys in my pocket, and I'd managed to pick the cage lock and make it twenty feet before being caught again. Another time I'd convinced one of the uninfested Taxxon guards to release me. I'd gotten maybe forty feet, that time. But I never managed an escape.

Rather than being upset, Edriss took it in stride. I didn't know whether she really felt that confident that I never could escape or was just faking it to keep me scared. She called it a game, and gradually I began to call it that too. It was infinitely easier to cope with the enslavement, of my body and others, if I considered the whole thing one elaborate match of chess.

Every time I played the game, she won. Every move I made, she knew the instant I concocted it. Every time the game ended, she was still in my head, calmly reassuring me that she had insurmountable advantages. She thought I would eventually give up, but I didn't. Every defeat made me even more determined to beat her. I turned my energy from trying to escape while free to trying to find out how to overpower her while she was inside.

And oddly enough, while I never forgot the disgusting murderer and slave-mistress she was, if I viewed her as a competitor I could develop a strange sort of relationship with her, and her with me. She explained to me that there was no reason to hurt me more than her presence already did, and a reasonably content host was much less of a hassle and much better company than a constantly angry one. I expected that there was something more to her explanation, but she never responded any further.

Instead, we spoke of politics, both Yeerk and human, and society, and language, and current events. She asked me about marketing, and because I couldn't withhold information, I gave it to her, even though I knew she'd relay the information onto the sub-vissers running The Sharing. Occasionally she asked me about emotions, but never told me anything back about the complexities of the Yeerk mind. I suspected she was guarding something from me, but Edriss was very, very good at keeping mum about things she didn't want to divulge.

She did things, as well, that she had no interest in, just because I wanted to do them. She had no desire, as far as I knew, to garden, and no concept of taste, but she indulged my cravings for certain foods and started a small pot of herbs in the kitchen. She said they kept me calm, and it was possible they did.

Sometimes she let me have occasional moments of freedom, citing again that a happy host is a good host. I was not happy, but I was grateful for the privilege. A few months in, she began to let me tell Marco goodnight every time.

{Remember,} she would hiss at me each night. {One word about the situation to him, and he'll be a slave like you before morning.}

And I would plant a kiss on Marco's forehead and say, "good night, honey. I love you very much. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite." And he would grimace the way ten year-olds do at kisses, but I knew deep down that he secretly was happy that as busy as Mom got, he still was top priority. And then Edriss would take control back.

{You know, Edriss,} I said once, {I think you may have a soft spot for children.}

{Why?} she sneered. {Because sometimes I let you fawn over your own weak, petulant child?}

I dropped it at that.

-/-

-/-

Eventually, I discovered that Yeerks sleep. They do not sleep long, only approximately five minutes every five or six days. And it wasn't that I had control when Edriss was asleep, just that if I fought hard enough and caught her unawares, I might be able to regain a modicum of autonomy for just a second. I discovered it at work one day. Edriss assumed I wouldn't notice, but for just an instant I felt her consciousness dim, and for that same instant I used all my might to bring my hand up to my head and claw at her.

It was a futile move, of course. It wasn't like I could tear Edriss from my head. But the sudden idea that I could struggle back was exhilarating and confusing. I'd acted out of delirium. Within seconds Edriss had resumed control and was thinking of an excuse for the bloody trails along my temple.

But I knew. And knowing that Edriss couldn't maintain one hundred percent of control was worth the broken skin and the wasted opportunity. It was worth the way she took away some of those small free moments. I could lie in wait, keeping my mind aware of any change I felt from her. And when the opportunity came, I might win a small victory.

Edriss suspected that I'd try this, of course. She moved her sleeping until when I was also asleep. For many, many weeks I didn't catch her sleep at all.

By either chance or divine intervention, however, I awoke one night and found myself alone in my own head, for just a moment. I knew I'd have to act quickly, before Edriss awoke. My mind raced with the thousand things I wanted to tell Peter.

_Lock me up for three days._ No. He wouldn't understand and I wouldn't have time to explain. Edriss would protest, explain that she'd been she'd been sleep-talking. Or worse, she'd find a way to have him infested. I knew, deep inside, that it was too late to ask them to save me.

My husband slumbered peacefully by my side, though how he could sleep through his own snoring had always baffled me. I took in, lovingly, his glasses at the bedside table, his bare feet poking out beneath the covers, the calm expression on his face. So sweet and oblivious. He hadn't asked for his wife to be infested by the leader of an alien race, but then again, neither had I. Nor was I ever going to ask for the same fate to befall my husband.

Quickly, I sat up, grabbing Peter's arm hard enough to hurt as I did it. "They won't take you if you stay away from the military!" I yelled. Edriss was already clamping back down before the third word was out of my mouth, so the second half of the statement was only a tiny, hollow squeak.

But audible. So beautifully audible.

He sat up next to me, arms quickly around me. "Honey?"

Edriss had regained total control, but hadn't prepared for this situation. She played that I had been sleeping. "Sweetie? Was I having a dream?" And then after a few moments of cuddling with my husband, she put my body back to sleep.

Before my mind shut down in slumber, I heard her say {I hope your son enjoys not being picked up after school tomorrow}. And as much as the idea hurt, I still felt victorious. I had no way of knowing if telling Peter that would keep him safe in the long run, but his odds were a little bit better now. For the first time, for even a minor prize, I had won a round of this cruel little game. I had shaken her confidence.


	6. May, 1994

**VI: May, 1994**

-/-

-/-

"Hi, Mom," Marco said from the kitchen table. It was getting to the end of the school year, so he was actually doing his homework, for once. He was surrounded by his notebook and his binder, all covered in a variety of doodles that proved that he hadn't been paying total attention in class. Stick figure superheroes dropped boxy trains and anvils on what I assumed were either teachers or kids he didn't like very much. Godzilla tore through a series of blue ballpoint rectangles. A spaceship with checkmark Martians landed on the red circumference of a C.

If only he knew. "Hey, squirt. You're doing your homework early," she said to my son.

He rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Dad said I could watch Beavis and Butthead if I finished my writing homework."

Had I been in control of my body, I'd have mentioned that I didn't approve of him watching that show, as young as he was, but Edriss didn't care. She didn't want to deal with friction bringing it up with Peter would cause. Sometimes she listened to me when it came to raising my own child, and often she'd follow my cues to being nurturing, but just as often she'd do what was easiest. She had, I thought, no interest in Marco's future beyond keeping him oblivious. Which left me, parenting yet not parenting my son, working yet not working at my job, seeing and commenting and advising on everything but simultaneously, essentially absent.

She said, "have him check your spelling when you're done" and started dinner.

"Mom?" Marco said in a tentative voice. "I got in trouble in math class today."

"Oh?" Edriss said borderline apathetically.

"Yeah. I was kinda drawing some silly pictures trying to make Jake laugh, and I got caught."

I could feel Edriss' irritation. She was incredibly busy these days. She was working on a campaign to elect a Yeerk as mayor of the city, and there were precious few months to organize before the election. This success was incredibly important to her, as she'd be submitting it to the Council of Thirteen with her appeal to be promoted. She expected promotion to Visser Three, perhaps Visser Two if one of the other candidates messed up along the way. Having to pick Marco up after detention or sit in on a meeting with his math teacher was not on her itinerary. "So did they give you a detention?"

Marco shrugged. "Mr. Epstein says if I go to chess club this week I don't have to go to detention. They have an odd number of people or something."

"So why don't you do that?"

"I don't know how to play and I don't want to get taught by a bunch of dorks," he said, as if it should be obvious.

Edriss looked through my memories, looking for chess. She was pleased with what she found. A strategy game, complex and with nearly infinite possible sequences. I felt a sense of admiration from her – among her fellow Yeerks she'd become so successful because she did not underestimate humans. She admired, like a visitor at an art gallery admires, our senses of strategy and tenacity. The many virtues she also possessed, and some that she lacked. "Maybe after dinner I can teach you how to play."

"After Beavis and Butthead, you mean." Marco finished his writing assignment and walked over to the cabinet to find the stapler. I could see that he'd spelled the "field" in the title "Artifacts We Saw on Our Field Trip" incorrectly, with the i and e reversed, but Edriss didn't mention it. Peter probably would.

"Sure, after Beavis. You want alfredo sauce or marinara?"

-/-

-/-

"I mean, it's not like I have to go every week, just this one day. I don't have to be great at it."

"But don't you want to be great at it?" Edriss said eagerly, as she continued to explain the finer details, to the point of my son being more than a little bored by it. Castling, en passant, Alekhine's Gun. "You know I used to play chess in college, right?"

"Yeah, but you were a nerd in college, Mom. With goofy hair." He grinned, amused by his own audacity.

Edriss grinned back, mockingly. "What did I do to deserve such a charming child?"

They played the first game. Edriss dove deep into the crevices of my mind to find the strategies I'd used in college, the proper way to set a trap, the way to execute a bewildering assault of higher-powered pieces. On top of those she layered her own conniving mind. She beat Marco in less than five minutes.

"Why did you leave your king open like that?"

"I thought you'd go easy on me, since I'm your only kid and all."

I felt something indecipherable from Edriss upon those words. Not regret, not sadness, but something like deflation. But none of it crossed our face. "One more try? I'll go easy on you this time."

"Nah. It'll be better if you don't."

Edriss won again, but this time it took her seven minutes. And again, but in ten minutes.

Marco flicked his little white king with his fingers. "One more time."

"You sure? I beat you pretty badly that time. No pawns, no pieces besides your king…"

"One more time," he said evenly.

{Your son doesn't like losing,} Edriss said to me privately.

{He doesn't like quitting when he knows he's improving,} I said back.

He did better this time around. Edriss set traps and he avoided them, and more surprisingly, he set his own trap and took her queen. A clever set-up and sacrifice with the white bishops left Edriss bereft of rooks. He smiled when he took her knight, but the smile was grim. Maybe he knew that he still didn't have the advantage.

My pager went off. Edriss had set it for 8:45. At 9:30 she had an intergalactic call with her mentor, Garoff, a member of the Council. Disrespecting a Councilmember would sink any chance she had at promotion. She stood up quickly, knocking over a bishop as she did. "Well, squirt, it's been fun. I've got somewhere to be. Consider yourself the winner."

He looked at me skeptically. "It's pretty late."

"Well, you know how those politicians are. Oh, don't forget to read a chapter of Watership Down. You need to have it finished by next Thursday." She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. She would most certainly not let me do it, with such an important call coming up. I would be able to sabotage her simply by breaking my own ankle. "Bedtime's 10 o'clock. Love you."

On her way out she said goodbye to Peter, who was doing something for his work on the computer. She got into my sedan and started driving towards the apartment downtown, the secret location in my name where she kept so many of her communication devices, and her personal Kandrona. Easier to keep it in some half-abandoned apartment complex across town than worry about my kid or his friends running across it. As we drove, we spoke amongst ourselves, my hatred for her simmering beneath the usual conversational atmosphere.

{It's a shame. Your son is very intelligent, if those chess games are anything to go by, but he'll never survive in a Yeerk-dominated world. Too trusting.} She tapped into my memory of driving and took us speeding across town. For some reason, having her drive with the same reckless abandon I always had was infinitely more terrifying.

{He adapted pretty quickly, once he knew you wouldn't go easy on him.}

{But he had to lose first. He lost three times and he never won the fourth. There will be no second or fourth chances when we've taken a significant enough portion of the population.}

I was used to her confidence. It didn't mean I believed her, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of a rebuttal. If she wanted someone to gloat to, I wouldn't make it interesting for her.

{And his spelling is atrocious,} she said, trying to push my buttons by chipping at my maternal pride.

I sighed internally. Edriss tended to get arrogant and condescending when she was set to meet a Councilmember. She felt she had to behave more like a proper Yeerk, I imagined. Yeerks that were not supposed to empathize or bond with their hosts, or, God forbid, think of their hosts as anything other than a shell. {Keep our eyes on the road, will you?}

The apartment complex was run-down and dirty, occupied by a smattering of fairly unscrupulous tenants, but Edriss never feared burglary, with her security systems. Since she'd gotten a personal Kandrona, I always hated going there, every three days at the least. Once she had to worry about her promotion, she didn't let me play the escape game.

Instead she drugged my body into sleep, and by the time I woke up each time she was back in my head. As hard as I tried, I never could stay awake long enough to attempt an escape. I knew, logically, that there was no way my mind could stay conscious with that much anesthetic in my system, but it didn't stop me trying. Or stop the disappointment when I didn't last.

But tonight was not a time to feed. We arrived fifteen minutes before she was set to communicate with Garoff, and she used the spare time to adjust our makeup and hair in the mirror. I doubted Garoff would care about such minor adjustments to this unfamiliar body, or even know the difference, but it seemed to make Edriss feel better. I considered telling her that only a human would apply extra lip gloss before an interview with a superior, but thought better of it. She was ignoring me anyway.

Finally, with a beep, the transponder in the center of the room turned on, and a blue-ish holographic form of a robed Hork-Bajir appeared. "Visser Ten, report for debriefing."

"Visser Ten reporting to Councilmember Garoff." My voice sounded different when she spoke to the Council. More flat, a respectful monotone. Yeerks did not use inflections the way humans did. "The situation on Earth continues at the predicted-"

Garoff cut her off. "Before we begin, Edriss Five-Six-Two, I must bring you sad news from the Mak home-world. It appears that a Mak rebellion has taken the lives of some of our most treasured military leaders."

Edriss' surprise and anticipation made my body's heart skip a beat.

"Unfortunately, the lives of Visser One, Ertim Seven-Eight-One, and Visser Two, Filtan One-Six-One, have been lost in the pursuit of victory. A moment of reflection, if you will."

Edriss stood perfectly still, pretending to mourn, as Garoff pretended to mourn as well. I knew full well that nobody in the conversation actually gave a damn about the fallen Vissers.

Garoff's hologram leaned in. "Between you and me, Edriss, this could be an opportunity for you. I've had a few words with the Council about your future if you show significant progress on Earth. Your appeal for promotion will be considered with the finest of candidates."

"Councilmember, I thank you greatly for the-" Edriss began, then stopped suddenly as Garoff held his clawed hand up.

"Edriss Five-Six-Two, should you deliver the highest executive position in the city to Sub-Visser Eighty-One, I believe it's quite probable your name could be on the shortlist for a newly vacant position. Complete your assignment on Earth, Edriss, and you will be Visser One."


	7. November, 1994

**Author's Note: **I know I've been posting up a lot of stuff lately, but I figured I shouldn't neglect this one so close to the end. Hopefully you enjoy it, and the story in general now that it's complete. Thanks for reading! Also, some of the dialogue from this chapter is lifted directly from _Visser_.

**VII: November, 1994**

-/-

-/-

I'd fought her for months. I'd done everything I possibly could to sabotage her campaign. I lied to her even when I knew she could read my thoughts. I struggled against her even when I knew her hold on me was iron-clad. I screamed and taunted her even when I knew she was ignoring me. All of it in vain.

Had I had control of my body, I'd have slumped and cried when the election results came in. But instead, she plastered a self-congratulatory, snake-like smile on my face, nodded and answered coolly to the accolades, arranged to take jobs I knew we wouldn't be around for. She kissed and excitedly hugged Peter, explained to Marco why it was important, and all the while I was screaming and begging for her to spare them what she was about to do.

For several weeks she coordinated her departure from Earth, letting nothing slip in her daily impersonation. She soaked in the attention she got from the winning campaign. In a sick way, I was almost proud. It had been my strategies she'd used, my mind she'd read. Edriss was brilliant and perceptive, but she couldn't have done it without my expertise. And so it was my mind, my knowledge and cunning, the insider experience from the job I'd taken when no Latina immigrants were offered such jobs, my own ambition that was my undoing. Proud, in a sick way, and disgusted with myself.

{Please, Edriss! Take another host and I'll never speak a word about any of this. Your secrets will be safe with me, please! We'll move out of the country, we'll go to Chile! I have family there that can shelter us! Just let me stay with my family! Don't do this!} I didn't care about offering to have someone else take my place, or about offering to keep quiet while the rest of the world was enslaved. I was overtaken by pure instinct: protecting my family from the hardship Edriss had planned. I'd feel sickened with myself later.

For the hundredth time, Edriss dispassionately told me that she couldn't afford that type of security risk while her promotion was still uncertain. I didn't know if it was my struggling, or her anxiety over her new position, or both, but Edriss had ceased our conversations. She did not taunt me, as sensitive and desperate as I was. She did not ask me questions. She simply told me, determinedly but emotionlessly, what she was going to do with me and why my pleas fell on deaf ears.

{You're guilty, Edriss. You're ashamed of what you're about to do. You don't have to, Edriss. Take another host, even give me to someone else, just don't do this. Don't damn yourself to Hell with this. My son needs a mother. My husband needs a wife. You don't want to hurt them. You don't want to hurt me.}

{Eva, I don't feel at all guilty about what I am about to do. You don't understand – I've been striving for this since I was a grub. I've risked my life for this opportunity. I'm not going to change my decision based on a few humans I don't even care about. I only wish you were more co-operative.}

{Ambition,} I spat at her. {Look what ambition got me, Edriss. It got me you. I promise you when this is all over, you'll regret ever coming to my planet. I'll make you eat that ambition.}

But her mind was set. Nothing I said or did could persuade her. I could only watch the last night of my life unfold before me, marching towards a death that was worse than death.

Marco had a cough and fever that had done a number on him. He was asleep now, even at the fairly early hour of 8 o'clock. As much as I hated to see him sick and miserable, a small part of me was grateful that it had forced Edriss to spend the day home. I'd pretended every nurturing motion she made was really my volition, my silent goodbye to him. I took in every detail. Into my memory, I etched his clammy forehead under my hand, the VHS of taped X-Men and Power Rangers episodes flickering in the background, the Legos strewn dangerously on the floor. Sacred. More vibrant to me now, knowing how soon I'd never see or feel any of it again.

Finally, it was time. Edriss took me to the living room, where Peter was watching a game. "Honey?"

When he didn't answer, she asked again, more insistently. Peter looked a bit embarrassed to be so absorbed in the game. "What's up?"

"Marco's fever is down. I think he's basically over this thing. He's asleep. Anyway, I was thinking of getting some fresh air."

Peter turned the sound off on the television. "Good idea. It's tough when they're sick, huh? Kids. He's okay though, huh?"

I prayed for him to say he loved me, so Edriss would be forced to say it back. My last words to him would matter. Why didn't he step into the light? I could barely see his face in the dark. I wanted to see it, wanted to memorize it and carry it with me into space.

"It's just a virus."

"Yeah, well, take some time. You've been carrying the load. And if you're going to the store-"

"Actually, I think I'll go down to the marina," Edriss said brightly.

Peter laughed. "Ever since you bought that boat, I think Marco's has some competition for favorite child in this household. You're not taking it out, are you? Looks kind of gloomy out."

Edriss smiled. "Just want to make sure it's well-secured, check the ropes and all."

I wanted him to protest. I wanted nothing more than for him to forbid me to leave, to see through the ruse or question my sanity to go to the marina this late, but he was already watching the game again. "Uh huh. Okay."

I begged and pleaded with Edriss to spend a little more time here. I needed those few more minutes, one last "I love you", just another moment to memorize everything, to maybe change her mind. She paused by Marco's room, peered in.

{Let me at least say goodbye, let me hold him one last time, let me kiss him, oh my God, no, no, don't do this!} I railed, hysterical. The vice was closing. The hope I'd had that she'd relent was slipping away.

She ran my hand down the doorframe, where pencil marks ticked off Marco's height every six months since he'd been old enough to stand. The most recent one smeared a little with my sweaty hands. _53 in (4'5) 10/8/94_.

And then she took me to the marina. I fought with her for the whole drive, trying to push her away for just a second so I could turn around, crash the car, something. She gave me nothing.

She took us out in the boat, raising too much sail. I felt her pride at her perfect plan coming to fruition. For an hour she sailed away from land, out of the sight of prying eyes. I succumbed to exhaustion and lay inside my body, silent and barely alert. She toyed with the thought of having the coming Bug Fighter ram the boat, then decided against it.

A drizzle of rain began. The winds kicked up, slapping the extra sail around and kicking the boat back and forth. Through the starting storm, she moved my eyes up to see a small shape descending through the clouds. From so far below, it looked like a black dot on a muddled gray canvas.

Her filthy underlings coming to transport and congratulate her, no doubt. Right on schedule. As precise as always, behavior you could expect from the efficient and heartless Yeerks. Edriss stood up on the boat, steadying herself with the railing, and grinned up at the Taxxon pilot.

Like a wave of nausea, my hatred for her flooded back in. I pushed against her with all the strength in me, finding a hidden reserve I didn't know I'd had. Enough to take my right arm and shoulder back, for just a second.

A second was all I needed. I pushed with my arm and hoisted my body onto the railing. In fair weather it would have done nothing, but as the sail caught another gust of wind it sent us tumbling over the edge of the boat. I was met with ice-cold saltwater rushing up my nose and an incomprehensible scream of rage from Edriss.

She was already back in control of my body, pawing frantically at the water. A wave crashed down on top of my head, pushing us under and further away from air. {What are you doing?}

{I'm taking you to Hell where you belong!} I yelled back at her, relishing the pain in my lungs and nose and her panic. I nearly laughed at her as my hands became numb, as my back seized with the cold.

{You'll kill us both!}

{I'll still kill _you_!}

She kicked and thrashed. My head broke the surface, but not long enough for her to drag breath. Desperately, she grabbed for the boat, but it was already several yards away. My lungs ached and spasmed.

I was going to kill her. I would die too, but I would take her with me. I was going to drown the murdering, cruel slug and leave her a bloated, lifeless worm inside the trappings of my skull. She'd die on her conquered land.

It almost happened.

A Hork-Bajir arm pulled me roughly out of the water. The Bug Fighter had lowered a steep ramp when they'd seen me go over the side of the boat. The Hork-Bajir, stronger than a human and with longer limbs, had reached in and grabbed my coat.

Edriss coughed and gagged as the Hork-Bajir helped her up to the Bug Fighter itself. I didn't know if she had the energy to maintain control still, but I didn't have the energy to try and take it back. I could see my little boat capsized twenty yards away. One last memory of Earth.

We entered the dark, technological confines of the Bug Fighter. The Taxxon pilot barely acknowledged our existence beyond a cursory, respectful head-bob. The alien electronics and screens glowed. They would be the context for the rest of my life.

"Visser, we are glad to see you were unharmed by that…incident," The Hork-Bajir said, carefully hiding any trace of mockery in his voice. He couldn't afford to offend the future Visser One. I wondered if he was regretting saving her yet.

"A sudden gust of wind, nothing more," Edriss said hoarsely. She took her seat in the back. It was a new Bug Fighter, one of the few issued with seats that fit humans instead of only Hork-Bajir. "Take us to the Pool Ship."

The Hork-Bajir barked a command at the Taxxon and took his place near the console. Edriss shivered and wrung water out of my hair and clothes.

When she was composed enough, she took me to task. {I'll take them both, Eva. Once we're aboard the Pool Ship I'll contact my fellows and take them. Your husband, your stupid, emotional husband, I'll take him at work. I'll send Hork-Bajir to hold him down. He'll be forced, screaming and begging, to put his head in the pool and take the lowest-assigned Yeerk I can find, so I can kill him later.}

All the while, she projected the image in my mind, like a clip from a movie I couldn't look away from. I saw Peter's head inches above the pool, his glasses falling off his nose, his eyes wide in terror. I saw the brutal hands of the Hork-Bajir shove him under. I saw his body relax as he was taken over.

{And then,} Edriss continued, {I'll take your naïve, whining, pathetic child. I'll make his father take him. He'll be dragged through the entrance at his school when your husband picks him up. He'll be so confused and afraid as his beloved father, his only living parent, asks him to let him put a slug in his head. And when he says no, the Yeerk in your husband will grab him by the neck and shove him into the pool.}

I saw all this, too. She made me watch her fantasy in all its perfectly clear, horrifying detail.

But for the second time today, I felt something reawaken in me. {No. You won't.}

Edriss seemed surprised, then even more furious than when she'd started. {Why won't I?}

I tried to hide my terror and revulsion. {Because you're not Visser One yet.}

She didn't respond.

I continued. {If you take my family, I will fight you every moment of the day. You know you can't control me completely all the time. I'll crack you just enough to let others see. The Hork-Bajir and Taxxon here already saw me push you off the boat. Your reputation as the most sophisticated master of humans will dissolve. You'll look weak. And you'll probably look weak before you actually get to your promotion.}

I could feel Edriss considering this. I could feel her mind changing. And I could feel, very subtly, that admiration she had for humans. It would have made me smile, if my lips were my own.

{And furthermore, if you look like you can't control your host and then send your host body's family to be taken by force, you'll look like you're trying to cover for being discovered. And it'll be an admission that your strategy of voluntary hosts is imperfect. The Yeerks on Earth know that you sometimes take by force, but your brothers and sisters on the Pool Ship don't. }

Edriss smiled, a mirror of what I felt inside. {Very well, Eva. I'll leave your family alone for now. As long as you promise not to struggle with me.}

I was overwhelmed with relief, even as she added that that didn't guarantee their protection. I was still cold and my muscles still hurt from the swimming, but I had that small piece of warmth, knowing that my grief-stricken family wouldn't find themselves in the same hell I was in.

As if to make a point, Edriss pulled up the visual for our flight. She focused our eyes on the vast blackness of space, the tiny dots of stars, the enormity of the moon. I knew that behind the moon, there was a Pool Ship waiting. But for the moment, space looked empty and tranquil.

{Of all the races we've infested, humans are the most appreciative of beauty. And wonder. And greatness.} Edriss pushed strings of wet hair out of our eyes to see better. {And intelligence.}

She pulled up the visual for the space behind us. Earth was nothing more than a small blue, white and green ball shrinking away from us. I could vaguely see North America, but the image was not clear enough for me to see California.

I felt something strange from Edriss. I still felt all the excitement and pride she had in her promotion, and her frustration with me, but I also could sense sadness in her. She looked balefully at the Earth and I wondered if it was just that her little project, the one she'd engineered from the start, would be passed on to someone else. Perhaps it was something more. Perhaps not. I was too tired to think much about it.

I watched as Earth receded from view. I thought of myself as fading out of existence. Finally, the moon eclipsed the Earth, and my home disappeared. The life I'd had, everything I'd worked for, everything I'd loved – the moon swept over it and in a blink, it vanished.

-/-

-/-

Fin


End file.
